


Eternal Trouble

by sharpestdisappearance



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asexuality, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Family Issues, Loneliness, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, alcoholic parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharpestdisappearance/pseuds/sharpestdisappearance
Summary: Imogen Ash is your average lonely teenager. At 17 she is plagued by her own emotions, not to mention her troublesome family life. Telling how she manages her chaotic teen/young adult life.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original characters and original story. However some aspects are based on real life experiences. I will put in the notes how true to reality each chapter is. Will reference lots of issues. Likely a long story - not sure how many chapters yet. lots of references to bands/songs.

So...Let me introduce myself. My name is Imogen Ash and I am 17 years old. I am a loner, I admit it - I can count on one hand the people I speak to. I study A-Levels in English, Philosophy and History at a local sixth form. I do have a so-called ‘best’ friend called Payton but I don't think she understands or even likes me. We just hang around together because we always have and there's no one else to talk to besides each other. That's the thing about Payton and me, we have known each other that long that it would be strange not to talk to each other. Outside of college though we don't do much together, apart from the occasional look round the shops. I spend a lot of time alone either reading or listening to music. Most would say I am quite studious, I have my head in a book or i am studying. I need to get top grades and get to uni, get the fuck away from this life and start over.

My family life is complicated. I am an only child, living with my mum and step-dad who have been together for 15 years. We live in a pretty rough town but I guess we are somewhat better off than most. It sounds when I describe it, an almost perfect life. Except that my step-dad has a drinking problem. Every few weeks or months he will have a drinking binge, rows with my mum and me, and then goes into a pit of depression. When he isn't drinking my family is completely normal but it can turn quickly into an unbearable existence. He isn't physically abusive really but definitely emotionally manipulative. It's not the end of the world, he hasn't drunk in about six months now and we have sort of gone back to normal, but after last time I threatened that my mum needed to kick him out if he did it again.

To continue with the account of my shit existence, today is a Sunday in spring and I am dressed in all black and staying indoors. This is pretty much exactly how I live. I won't be seeing anyone. I am in my room staring at the ceiling with my headphones, top volume listening to The Queen is Dead by The Smiths. I don't think about what I'm missing out on while staying indoors, because the world out there is pretty shit. I think a lot about philosophical questions and I am somewhat of a nihilist. Right now i am thinking about how if there is a God why has he given me this fucking awful existence. I turn down the music and hear my mum coming up the stairs and I pray she's not coming to talk to me. But then I hear:

‘Imogen, I’m going to the shops now and I need you to come with me’

For fuck’s sake. I don't want to go but I can't be arsed to argue. I get up and walk outside to the car. My mum is still talking to my step dad, I put on a CD of My Chemical Romance and try to forget how awful my life is. She comes out the house, gets in the car and then turns the music off.

‘Hey! What did you do that for?’

‘I need to talk to you’

I wonder what could possibly be so important it means turning off the music? 

‘Terry has been drinking again’

‘WHAT THE FUCK’ I scream ‘I said to you that if he ever were to drink again you had to kick him out straight away’

‘Imogen, I am driving, don't shout’ she replied ‘And I know but he is in pain’ 

‘Pain in the bloody arse’ I say

‘Listen, I am going to help him detox and then we will look at an alternative for him to live elsewhere’

‘Why do we have to do it, haven't we done enough already’ I question but get no response.

My mum parks the car and turns to me. 

‘I need to do this properly, who knows where he would end up if we kick him out on the streets. I understand how you feel, trust me I feel the same but this time will be different. We are going to find him a flat and we can separate ourselves from him’

‘Like I haven't heard this a million times before. When are you going to see how he manipulates you, manipulates us. How many times has he promised to never drink again but it always leads back to the same place. And the ‘He is in pain’ excuse is bullshit.’

The excuse I am referring to is that his ex wife died, and he started drinking to cope with the grief, but it was over twenty years ago now.

‘I know and I’m sorry’ she says and she sounds like she means it

But I still respond with ‘Whatever’

We go round the shops quietly, not saying much to each other. I realised that she wanted me to come out with her so she could break the news outside of the house. I can't wait to go home.

A couple hours later and I'm back in my room. It's about 6 o’clock and I am refusing to leave my room. I have college tomorrow so I make the excuse that I have homework so I can be left alone. The truth is I already did my homework so I am writing an extra philosophy essay with headphones on to try and distract my mind from what i know is about to happen next. After a few peaceful hours I take off the headphones and listen. I hear the row, not exactly what is said, but raised voices and a phrase I've heard a thousand times before,

‘I swear I won't do it again’

Then it quietens down. About half an hour later my mum comes up the stairs and knocks at my door. I don't say anything but she comes in anyway. 

‘Listen, I need to take Terry to A and E. he is having chest pains and I'm concerned it could be a heart attack’

‘Are you for fucking real, he is just drunk and making an excuse so you don't kick him out’

‘You need to mind your language! Anyway there is no way to know for sure, so i will be back soon’

‘Fuck off then’

I throw the book I was reading at the door as it closes. I wait till I hear the front door closing and the car start outside, when I start crying. Uncontrollable. My eyeliner runs down my cheeks and I can't believe my mum would choose to help him again. I start panicking about what will happen. I wish he was having a heart attack and that he would die, leaving us forever. I don't care about what happens to him, I only care about me and my mum. Suddenly I can't catch my breath. I lie down on my bed and my heart races. What the fuck is happening to me. I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Maybe I am the one having a heart attack. Surely this isn't normal? I try and calm down but it is useless.

After what could only be a few minutes but felt like days my breathing slows to normal. I cry softly and turn off the light, praying that I won't wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still worried about her family situation and following her panic attack, Imogen goes to college. She wishes her best friend Payton would notice, but there's little chance of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is fiction, the characters and story are original. i know this isnt a very good chapter but i hope its somewhat ok.

Monday morning arrived, I woke with the sound of my alarm, and was for a moment confused as I didn't remember falling asleep. I sat up and recalled the feeling from the night before, the rising panic, racing heart and feeling as though I was drowning and gasping for air. What the hell was that? I quickly researched my symptoms online and I found out it was probably a panic attack. Hmm…. why would I have a panic attack? There wasn't anything wrong with me? And it definitely felt worse, more like i was about to die. I'm still unsure as to what this means when i get up and start getting ready for college. I'm going to be late if i don't hurry up. I pull on black ripped skinny jeans and a Smiths T-shirt, quickly brush my hair and ring my eyes with black eyeliner. I shove my books and folder in my rucksack and head downstairs. 

I go into the kitchen and my mum is sitting at the table. She looks as though she hasn't slept at all. I don't say anything but start to pour cereal into a bowl and put the kettle on. I make her a brew and put it in front of her still remaining silent. Then I go to sit down across the table from her and start eating my breakfast. 

‘Terry is still in hospital. They aren't sure if it was a heart attack yet but they wanted to keep him in overnight for observation’ my mum tells me

I don't respond

‘Would you bloody say something? It's like you don't care at all.’

I want to start screaming ‘I don't fucking care, it doesn't make a difference to me whether he dies, and after what he has done to us you shouldn't care either. Fuck this.’ And I would storm out slamming the door behind me.

Instead I say quietly ‘I'm late for college’ so I pick up my things and leave the house normally.

I'm walking to meet Payton and I'm still furious but its not like I can have a breakdown right now. I try and hold back the tears because my thoughts are racing through my mind and I start to feel the rising panic again. Luckily I keep it under control and I see Payton at the end of the street.

‘Hey, are you okay? You look like shit’

This is exactly the type of comment i don't need just now. Let me tell you a bit about Payton. She has the perfect life, all pretty and skinny with long blonde hair. She is popular with everyone. Her family life is picture perfect and she doesn't have a care in the world. In comparison to me, she is my polar opposite. People must wonder why we are friends. Payton with her gorgeous looks and popularity and me being slightly overweight and always looking like I'm dressed for a funeral with my depressed looks.

I respond with a ‘Yes I'm fine I just woke up late and didn't have time to get ready properly’

She then proceeds to tell me her latest drama with a boy called Peter that she likes. I'm not really listening as I'm too wrapped up in thinking about my mum and Terry. 

Then she says ‘So Imogen what do you think?’

Shit I don't even know what she was talking about.

‘Ummm, I don't know, just do what you think is best’

‘What is up with you today?' she questions, and she sounds like she actually gives a shit about my answer for once.

I briefly contemplate telling her everything but then I just decide to ask for advice about the panic episode from last night.

‘Last night…I sort of had this weird feeling, my heart went really fast and I couldn't breathe. I don't know what it was but I'm sorta worried about it’

‘It sounds like how I feel around Peter!’ She says laughing. I knew it was a mistake to bring this up.

‘No, it wasn't like that, it was like a rushing panic. Never mind it doesn't matter’

‘If you say so’

We get to college and separate because I have history first and Payton has geography. She waves as she walks away and everyone looks at her because that's what they always do and Payton loves it. Typical. I enter the classroom and sit next to someone I don't really know but they look just as lonely as me. This girl, I think she is called Violet, comments on liking my shirt, saying she likes The Smiths too, but I only mutter a ‘thanks’ and I think she takes it as a signal to leave me alone. The lesson is pretty boring and I'm not really paying attention, I would rather just do the work in my own time. We have homework set for tomorrow so that will keep me separated from my mum later. I have a free period where I sit alone and read a book for history, which is how I like to spend my free periods, getting some peace for once. At lunch I sit with Payton and her gang of followers. I don't say much and don't feel like eating anything, not that Payton would notice.

The next lesson is philosophy and me and Payton have this together, so we go in and sit next to each other. She whispers to me through the lesson about something she hears from a girl called Hannah about Peter. I don't listen to her really and I'm not really paying attention to the class either. Just thinking about how this is my last lesson of the day as I finish early on a Monday. I don't know what it will be like at home later. I'm still thinking about how shit my life is when the bell rings. I say goodbye to Payton and agree to meet her before college in the morning. I put my headphones on. Today’s album choice - Power, Corruption and Lies by New Order. I cut though the park on my walk home and decide to sit on the swings. After a few minutes of solitude, a small child runs near to me and looks frightened. Great, I'm even scary to fucking children. I get up and carry on walking home. Who know what I’m going to find there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogen has a troubled night dealing with her family issues and struggles to cope with being dragged down again by her Mum and Terry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very loosely based on real life, but some of it reflects a real experience. I've left it quite ambiguous why Imogen is writing, or who she is writing to but it will become clearer as the story progresses. I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope it is somewhat good :)

I unlock the door, no one is home thankfully. I go straight to my room after getting a drink and some crisps. I throw down my stuff and change into joggers and a sweatshirt, so happy that i am back in my safe space. I put on my favourites playlist, first up Common People by Pulp, amazing. Because no one is home I can play as loud as I want. I wish i could stay like this forever, playing music loudly and being alone without a care. I flop down on my bed and reflect on the day’s events. I'm so sick of Payton, she didn't even notice how shit I was feeling today, and I'm sure I looked like death warmed up. All she cares about is herself and boys. This is one thing I don’t understand. I don’t know why girls get so obsessed with boys, come to think of it I don't think I’ve ever had a crush on a boy. Not that it matters anyway, who gives a shit about wanting that kind of connection with someone, I’m better off on my own, everyone lets me down in the end anyway.

Whatever, I can’t think about this right now. What is going to happen next when my mum gets home? I don't even know where she is, probably seeing Terry at the hospital. I don't understand why she wants to keep things going with him when he is just a waste of fucking space.

I sit at my desk to get on with my homework and then if mum comes back late then I can pretend I went to bed early. I’m actually such a nerd that I enjoy doing my homework and reading extra books for my A-Levels. It’s a good distraction. I open up a text we’re studying for English as I sing to myself a lyric from ‘Handsome Devil’ by The Smiths.

‘There’s more to life than books, you know, but not much more’

A few hours later and I’m just in bed looking at my phone while listening to music when I hear the door being unlocked. It’s only about 10pm but I turn off the light and pretend to be asleep. It’s definitely mum but I can hear Terry too. For fucks sake, I was hoping for a few days without him in the house. Great. Just fucking great. I hear the TV turning on downstairs and someone coming up the stairs. I slow my breathing, shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. Someone knocks at the door but I ignore it. It’s my mum, she comes in anyway, turns on the light and tries to wake me up. I pretend that I’ve been asleep and act annoyed at being woken up, I sit up as my mum tells me she has something important to say. She sits on the edge of my bed and tells me that Terry has been discharged from hospital, he didn’t have a heart attack but was just drunk. They kept him in overnight because he was too drunk to be observed properly.

‘So….I thought I would let you know that he is going to be okay, they said he shouldn’t be drinking anymore, but I can’t stop him’ 

When she finishes telling me this I ask ‘Did you have to wake me up to tell me that?’ 

‘It’s important Imogen, don’t act like you don’t care.’ This tips me over the edge, because she knows full well that I don’t care.

‘I don't fucking care, I wish he did have a heart attack and died, it would make our lives easier’ I don’t shout but my voice is definitely raised more than my usual quiet shy whisper.

She slaps me across the face. Hard. It’s a major shock, stinging like a fucking bitch.

‘Fuck you’ I say, as I hold my cheek that has gone bright red.

‘Don’t behave like a spoiled little brat and don’t you ever wish Terry dead again. He is part of this family whether you like it or not’ My mum is still fuming and she leaves my room slamming the door behind her. I stick the middle finger in the air but she has already gone.

I’m still in shock from the slap. My mum has never hit me before today, but Terry has done, much worse, both to me and to mum. This makes it hurt even more. I turn the light back off and lay flat on my back. I hate this. I can hear my mum going back downstairs and her and Terry talking. I know they are talking about me, and that Terry will be furious that I spoke to my mum that way but I don’t care anymore.

I wish for a normal family. Nice house, caring mum and dad who never fight or get drunk, and that I would be the perfect daughter, all pretty and popular instead of the stupid loser that I am. Why do I have to be depressed? Why do I have to be the girl surrounded by darkness? I wish for something to happen, for something to change.

It’s nearing 11 o’clock now and I won’t be able to sleep. I never can when Terry is drinking, I stay awake to hear everything and because my own thoughts run at a hundred miles an hour. I can’t go to college tomorrow. I can’t face another day outside. It’s becoming harder and harder. I don’t want to go, so I decide that I just won’t go. Who is going to fucking stop me? I grab my phone and send a quick text to Payton telling her I won’t be coming to college tomorrow because I’m sick, then I turn it off because I don't want to read the reply. Then even though I spend the next few hours with thoughts flying out of control I manage to fall asleep at about 4am…

It’s the next morning, I wake up naturally as I didn’t set an alarm, it’s now just after 10am. I turn my phone back on to see that Payton has sent me a text:

Payton: Hope you feel better soon babe, got lots to fill you in on when you get better! Kisses, P x

I promptly tell the phone to fuck off as her reply already fills me with dread. I get out of bed after a quick Facebook and Twitter check, not that I have much to see, it's not like I have many friends. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, hair sticking out in all different directions, yesterday's eyeliner smudged round my eyes and a slight red tinge to my face from the slap. Fuck me, I’ve never looked worse, its probably for the best that I didn’t go in today. I send very brief emails to my teachers telling them I won’t be in today or tomorrow and asking for the work I will miss, it won't be hard to catch up, probably easier to do it in my own time anyway. I put on my dressing gown and listen at the door before I go out. Mum will be at work and it sounds like Terry is still asleep because there isn’t the noise of the TV which would definitely be on if he was awake, all he does is get fucking drunk and watch the telly. I go downstairs and make some toast and a cup of tea, grabbing a few other things from the kitchen to last for the rest of the day. Crisps, a bottle of coke and a bar of dairy milk which should be good for a few hours in my room after breakfast. I get back to my room and watch an episode of an old sitcom while I have my breakfast in bed. 

I feel a bit more relaxed after half an hour, I had felt really on edge since I woke up this morning. I need to actually do something today though. I listen at the door again and it still sounds like Terry is asleep so I grab some fresh clothes and a towel and run for the bathroom. If I’m fast then I should be able to shower and get back to my room before Terry wakes up. I quickly shower, wash my hair and get dressed again even though it's only clean PJ’s. I open the door and walk down the hall back to my room when Terry opens his bedroom door. Shit. 

He starts shouting in my face, it startles me even though I should have expected this. ‘Oi, you little shit. Upsetting your mother and talking about wishing me fucking dead. I should just beat the shit out of you myself, save me and your mum a lot of hassle.’ 

I know I shouldn't talk back, I know what he can be like when he's in a drinking phase. But I manage to run around him quickly into my room shouting ‘Fuck you, alcoholic dickhead’ just before I slam the door and drag my bedside table to put in front of the door. He won't be able to get in now and I doubt he has the effort to come and shout at me again. I try and slow my breathing as I started to panic a little when I saw Terry, as is what usually happens from being around him, I'm scared half to death. 

Now I have a day on my own in my room with no-one to bother me, I can’t think of anything better. I decide to do some philosophy reading and carry on watching the telly for the rest of the day.

Bye for now, I’ll update if something interesting happens, or not, whatever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogen tells about her ongoing abuse from Terry. After a trip to the doctors, Imogen takes steps to improve her mental health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence in this chapter and reference to anti-depressants. Don't read if you don't want to hear it. I sorta rushed this chapter but its not based on any factual events.

So let me tell you what happened the last couple of days…

On Tuesday, I spent quite an enjoyable rest of the day, by myself in my room until about 5pm when my mum came home from work. She came straight up to my room and I had to move the table I had put there to block the door. 

‘Can you come downstairs we need to have a talk.’

‘Okay’ I sigh and get up. Coming downstairs, Terry and mum are sitting at the kitchen table looking serious. I hope that they are about to tell me they are splitting up, but I can’t be too hopeful.

‘Why didn’t you go to Sixth Form today? They phoned me to ask where you were.’ Mum asks after I sit down across from them.

Okay, What. The. Fuck. I didn’t think they would care, it’s only one bloody day. And anyway Terry knew that I was in the house all day, but then again he had been drinking so he probably didn't even know what day it was. 

I don’t know what to say so I shrug my shoulders and mumble ‘Didn’t want to’

Mum looks concerned but Terry turns to his immediate response, that is shouting and swearing.

‘You little shit, I swear to God you need to be taught a fucking lesson’ 

‘Terry, calm down, I’m sure it was a one off, wasn’t it Imogen?’ Mum starts to panic because she knows what he will do next. I know that mum wants me to agree so that the situation calms down but I’ve had enough.

‘You know what, I’m sick to fucking death of this family. I didn’t go to college today because I am exhausted, depressed and an anxious fucked up mess, all because of him’ I scream at Terry

‘Right that’s it’ Terry spits at me. He stands up and drags me up by the wrist. Then, blackness.

The next day I woke up in bed with an awful pain in my left eye. I sit up in bed and try to remember what happened. 

College. Arguing. Shouting. Terry. His fist. The pain. 

Now I remember. I reach over to grab a handheld mirror and see that I have a black eye. Dark purple and covering most of the area around my eye. I’m still examining the damage when there's a knock at the door.

‘Fuck off’ I shout.

It's my mum, she comes in anyway with a brew and some tablets.

‘You need to mind your language, young lady’ she says as she hands me the mug. She does actually look horrified at the black eye I have. ‘Take these tablets to help with the pain, and I’ve phoned the college to say that you’re sick’

I take the pills with a sip of my tea but I don’t say anything to mum. She sits on the end of my bed and waits a while before saying:

‘He doesn’t mean it you know’

‘He never does’ I snap back.

‘He just gets angry especially when you wind him up by misbehaving and chatting back’

‘That’s bullshit’ I respond. ‘He does it because he is a violent alcoholic, when are you going to see that?’

Mum doesn’t say anything because she knows it's true, then she stands up and tells me she has to go to work and that I should rest, take some more painkillers if it still hurts and to not upset Terry anymore, and not to call a doctor. 

I know why she doesn’t want me to call a doctor, because she knows that it would get Terry arrested if I told the truth. What she doesn’t know is that I’ve had to go to doctors many times before because of what he has done to me but I always lie. 

It’s just after midday when I start looking at my phone. Loads of texts from Payton, updating me on her various so-called ‘problems’ so I reply with a half hearted response, also telling her I am still ill from yesterday.

After an hour or so I decide that I need to go to the doctors, even though I really don’t want to. But the pain is worse than anything I’ve had before and I’ve taken a lot of shit from Terry. I phone the doctors and they say I can come in for an appointment at 2pm, which is in half an hour. I get dressed quickly and brush my hair so I don’t look completely dead. After some searching I found some sunglasses which will cover most of the black eye, I will look like a freak walking about in November with sunglasses but it’s better than the alternative. I decide to go straight away and walk slowly to the doctors because I still feel a bit shaken up and dizzy.

About 20 minutes later I’m sitting in the doctors when my name is called. I go in and the doctor asks the routine questions.

‘So what can I help you with today Imogen?’

I take off the sunglasses. ‘I walked into a cupboard door and the swelling and pain is pretty bad’

I lie because there is no way I can tell the truth. The doctor looks like she doesn’t believe me but just looks at the bruising. 

‘It's a pretty bad bruise and still swollen. I can prescribe some stronger painkillers but I can see from you notes that you have had various injuries in the last few months. Can you tell me what that is about?’

‘I’m just a clumsy person, always accidentally hurting myself’ I lie smoothly with a fake laugh at the end.

‘Okay, here’s your prescription’

I decide that while I’m here I should tell her about my mental health while I’m at it

‘Actually if it's not too much trouble, I’ve got something else. Recently I’ve been feeling very low and anxious, and I think I had a panic attack a few days ago’

‘Can you describe in more detail how you are feeling?’

‘Really awful actually, like I don’t want to do anything, feeling fed up and everything seems to make me panic’

‘Have you thought about hurting yourself because of how you feel?’

Its a lie to say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind quite frequently. How easy it would be to stop feeling this way, and to escape. But I can’t tell the doctor that, I don’t want to end up in a hospital.

‘No’ I can’t even remember how many times I’ve lied today so far.

‘Do you want to try some counselling? There is quite a waiting list though.’

‘No, I’ve had it before and it didn’t help me’ This is actually true, I was a mess at school and was forced to see a counsellor every week, not that it made anything better.

‘So your only option is to start taking a course of antidepressants. I can prescribe some for you, and you could think about it’ 

The doctor obviously wants to get rid of me so I accept and let her give me another prescription and a warning about the possible side effects.

I stand up to leave saying ‘thank you’ when she hands me a leaflet. 

‘Boyfriends aren’t always worth it you know, there is help for you’

I look down at the leaflet as I leave, it's about abuse from a partner. Well it's not abuse from a boyfriend. Shows how much she knew. I leave the doctors throwing the leaflet she gave me in the bin on my way out. I walk round the corner to get my prescriptions from the chemist and then head home. 

I take the painkillers straight away when I get back because my eye is still really painful. Then I start reading the possible side effects of the antidepressants she gave me. It’s called Citalopram and the side effects are loss of concentration, nausea, vomiting and headaches. Great. But if it makes me feel better maybe it can’t hurt. I get one of the tablets out and place it on the table in front of me next to a glass of water. I hesitate, briefly weighing up whether it's worth it or not.

I decide ‘fuck it’ things can’t get any worse, so I take the pill. Let’s see what happens next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogen struggles with her mental health after starting a course of anti depressants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written for a while, life got in the way and I dont think anyone really cares but i wanted to take this story further. this chapter is largely based on my own experiences with anti depressants and self harm.

So, this morning I woke up and rushed straight into the bathroom to throw up. I'm sitting on the bathroom floor feeling completely drained. I know I'm not pregnant so it must just be a side effect of the pain killers or the citalopram. I practically crawl back to bed, check my phone and then stare at the ceiling. 

I feel completely empty, like I don't think I could ever feel happy again. I don't want to go back to sixth form, I don't want to leave the house, I don't want to do anything anymore. These thoughts run around my mind and I try to think about how I might feel when the medication starts to work. I want these feelings to go, its not only the physical headaches and feeling sick, but its feeling mentally exhausted. 

I get up and drag my desk in front of the door so no one can come in, I'm pretty sure my mum has gone to work and Terry will be drunk so he shouldn't bother me. I look in the mirror and I hate what I see. Dark bags under my eyes, ghostly pale skin and dark black hair sticking up literally like a bird's nest. I decide that I don't care anymore, no one is going to see me anyway. I take another anti-depressant hoping that it might work faster and I won't feel like I want to die. 

I spend the next few hours crying on and off, pacing the room and feeling like I want to rip my own hair out. I don't even know who I am anymore, who am I?

It's pretty much a blur when I have my next panic attack, it feels like forever and no time at the same time. When I start to realise what happened I sit up in bed and try to focus on my breathing though that doesn't really help. I look at my phone and there are texts and Facebook notifications that I cant even begin to think about. Its just turned 4 o'clock so my mum will be home soon. That's when I realise that I haven't eaten or drank anything since I woke up, mostly because the sickness and depression has massively put me off eating. Another panic attack happens and when its passed I hear a knock on my bedroom door. 

'Leave me alone' I weakly attempt a shout.

'Imogen, are you okay? Terry says you haven't been out of your room all day' 

Fuck her, Fuck Terry, I hate them.

'Just leave me alone' I hate myself. 

'I'm coming in' she tries to open the door but I've barricaded it. 

'What's behind the door? Let me in right now'

'Fuck off' I respond 'I want to be left alone'

'What the fuck is wrong with you, why can't have a normal daughter?' 

A few moments pass and I hear her go downstairs. That's when I start hysterically crying, I hate myself already, I don't need reminding what a fucked up freak I am. 

I think about how much I'm hurting, and I need to let it out. I need to hurt, I deserve it because I'm a fucking waste of space. I dig my nails into my thighs and pull harshly along the skin. I keep doing it but it's not enough. I go into my desk drawer and get out a pencil sharpener. I manage to get the blade separated, and let out ragged breaths before I drag it along my thighs. One cut, then another, then another. Oh the pain is a release. 

The next few minutes I'm just thinking about what I've done and trying to stop the bleeding with a tissue. I'm crying again and breathing really quickly. When I've somewhat calmed down, I get up and find a plaster in my room and place it over the three cuts. They weren't that deep but they did hurt and bleed for a while. I'm so fucked up that I liked seeing the blood, seeing a physical injury to reflect how I feel inside. It seems to help by making it better with a plaster, like I'm trying to heal myself. I cry for quite a while longer until it eventually stops and I try to regain some composure. 

Then I hear footsteps. 

'Open this fucking door right now' Terry shouts at me. 

'No!! Fuck off you wanker' 

'Right that's it' He pushes against the door so hard it moves the desk and then they are in my room, my mum and Terry. 

Luckily I had the sense to get rid of the evidence of cutting and the pills, but I can't hide what I look like. 

Then Terry grabs me and holds me up against the wall.

'What the fuck is wrong with you' he spits in my face. He's really hurting me but I don't really care. 

'Let go of her, I'll deal with her' My mum buts in.

'You need to get a fucking grip, Imogen. You can't fucking act like this.' He shouts again but then lets me go and storms out of the room. I don't have the energy to come back with a bitchy remark. 

I sit down on the bed, and my mum looks at me like I'm fucking mental and not quite there. 

'What's going on? Why are you acting like this? Locking yourself away to cry and act completely crazy?'

So she does think I'm mental. Well I probably am, I'm taking medication aren't I? 

I don't respond to her and she's talking about how hard it is to see me like this and how I need to get a grip. I'm not really listening until I hear:

'You need to get it together, if you keep acting crazy like this you will end up in some nuthouse' 

That's when I snap. I pull up the shorts I'm wearing, rip of the plaster and show her where I've cut myself.

'This is who I am. I'm pathetic. I'm crazy and I obviously cant live like anyone fucking normal. But I'd rather be dead than end up in a nuthouse' Then I grab my mum's arm and drag her because she's smaller than me, and I'm quite a big girl with some strength. I push her out of my room, slam the door and sink behind it putting all my weight to the door.

'Fuck this Imogen, grow up' she shouts, though she does sound upset and concerned. 

I can't cry anymore, I literally have no tears left. I don't have anything left. I drag bed bed this time in front of the door because its heavier, though I don't think Terry will try and come in again. It's getting late now, about 9 o'clock and he will definitely be too drunk to care about getting to me. My mum obviously doesn't really care either.

I grab my pillow and scream into it, I just keep thinking that I want to die. I go into the draw where I hid the blade, then I cut myself again, slightly deeper this time. And I do it more. I'm drawing in sharp breaths through the pain, but I don't cry this time as the pain feels good. I wait until the bleeding stops and then I put new plasters over my wounds. Like I'm a nurse healing myself. I sit and stare at the walls for a while, then I take another citalopram. It might make me feel better, though I doubt it. 

I lie down in bed and almost fall asleep, until I hear an ambulance outside. I get up and look out the window, and wonder who its going to. 

They stop just outside my house. Then I realise. It's for me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogen is at an all time low, she is greatly struggling with her mental health and doesn't get the help and support she needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story is kind of weird because Imogen is based on me, not a lot of the actual storyline is what happened to me but very similar. I guess writing about my issues helps in some way.

My mind races. No, no, no, no, no. 

Shit what am I going to do?

I frantically put furniture behind the door and try to hide the evidence of cutting. I hear the front door open so I try and listen without freaking out. I’m not going anywhere, there's no fucking way I’m going to a hospital. I’m just weird, but I’m not anywhere near bad enough to need to go to hospital. 

They are coming up the stairs, what am I going to do?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Someone tries the door. 

‘Imogen, I’m Louise, I’m a paramedic. Can you let me in?’

‘No, I don’t need this, I’m fine’ I’m not fine, I'm freaking the fuck out.

‘Imogen, it’s in your best interests to open the door and let me help you. Your mother says you have been hurting yourself, can you let me know if you are bleeding now?’ She asks gently.

‘No it’s stopped. I’m okay, I’ve got this under control’ I don’t have it under control

‘Please open this door, I don’t want to have to force it open’

‘Is my mother there?’

‘No, but I could get her if you want’

‘No, please don’t. I don’t want to talk to her’ I do want my mum to help me, but I have to keep up my act, I can’t let my guard down because I still hate Terry and while I hate him, I hate her.

I hesitate before saying ‘If I open the door, will it just be you, no one else?’

‘It’s just me’

‘And will you make me go to the hospital?’ my voice breaks, and I start crying with all the pressures of this situation.

‘Let me in and I can assess you. Come on Imogen, just open the door’

I start to move the things I put behind the door, just enough so she can come in. I sit on the bed, hysterically crying and breathing really quickly. 

‘It’s okay, Imogen’. The paramedic kneels down in front of me, speaking very softly.   
Then she checks me over, looks at my cuts and asks me a lot of questions. 

‘Have you been struggling with your mental health for a while now?’

‘Yes, I just don’t know how to cope anymore’

‘Are you currently taking any medication?’

‘Do you have to tell my mum what I say?’

‘No, its private medical information’

‘I went to the doctors a few days ago and I started taking antidepressants. It was since I started taking them that I felt shit’

‘Which anti-depressants?’

‘Citalopram’

‘I’m surprised you were prescribed those, for under 18’s there is a high risk of suicidal thoughts when taking citalopram. Did your doctor not explain the side effects?’

‘I just thought you could get sick, not suicidal’

‘It’s okay, it's going to pass and when they kick in, it won’t feel quite so bad. Have you been having panic attacks?’

‘A couple of times a day in the last few days’

‘Okay, and what is life like at home for you?’ she asks the worst question

‘Shit’ I don’t want to elaborate.

‘You don’t have to talk about it, but it may be a contributing factor to why you feel this way’

‘What happens now?’

‘You don’t need to be admitted, I don’t think you are in immediate danger but you need to be referred to mental health service, I think adult mental health services will be best because you are nearly 18.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘They might recommend different medications and therapy. But it's all about helping you’ 

‘What about my mum?’

‘Shall we go and talk to her. I can explain everything for you?’

‘Okay’

We go downstairs and I sit quietly while the paramedic tells everything to mum and Terry. It's one of the worst experiences of my life. I genuinely hate myself. 

‘So she's not going to hospital? But she cut herself’ my mum asks.

‘I don’t think it's medically necessary. She won't be admitted to a mental health ward because its not serious enough to be deemed medically necessary’

‘It is medically necessary, she's fucking mental’ Terry chimes in with his opinion. 

‘Fuck you’ I shout at him.

‘Okay, okay, calm down. I think what’s important is how I can help Imogen. What should I do to stop her cutting again?’ My mum does sound concerned about me, but I don’t need her help.

‘Just try and be supportive as best as you can. Remove any blades or sharp objects from the home and keep a close eye, no more barricaded doors.’

‘Fuck this’ I think but I don’t say anything. 

‘Good luck Imogen, you should hear soon from a mental health team’ My mum shows her out and I sit quietly. 

‘Fucking freak, cutting yourself. It’s what you deserve for being such a fuck up. Why don’t you just finish the job and cut deeper’

‘Why don’t I?’ I challenge but I get up and run up the stairs, into my room and shut the door. 

I’m not going to do it, not yet anyway. I hide the blade somewhere she won't look, under the bottom drawer of my desk. I want this day to be over, I want this life to be over. 

My mum comes in without knocking. 

‘No more closed doors. And we need to talk.’ 

‘I don’t want to’

‘You fucking will. Do you want help or not?’ 

Not from you I fucking don’t.

‘Well Terry wants me to die, so I guess I don’t need help’

‘Don’t be stupid, he wouldn’t say that’ 

‘He fucking did’

‘Stop lying’ I hate it when she calls me a liar

‘I’m fucking not’

‘Watch your language’ I hate it when she tells me to watch my language, I can swear as much as I fucking well want to.

She carries on ‘Anyway this is not about Terry, this is about you. You can't hurt yourself again’

‘Why not, who is going to stop me?’

‘I am’ 

She is getting on my nerves 

‘We will talk about this tomorrow, but for now I want you to get in the shower, get in bed and go to sleep. Get it together Imogen’ 

Then she leaves but doesn’t close the door. 

I sit for a few minutes, kind of shocked about what happened. Then I realise how late it is, it's after 2am now. I go out of my room, into the bathroom. I start crying again when I see myself in the mirror. I look like a wreck, broken, damaged, scarred. 

After my shower, I put some clean PJ’s on and get into bed, but I have to close my bedroom door because mum and Terry are having a row. I try to block it out but I know it's about me. I’m not going to cry again. I have had enough for today. 

I lay in bed, trying not to listen but also trying to ignore all the thoughts running round my mind. I hate Terry, and I hate my Mum because she takes his side all the time. But most of all I hate myself. I genuinely don’t want to wake up in the morning. I don’t want to face another day of this shit existence. 

I run my hand over the raised lines across my thighs, knowing that I’m permanently scarred inside and out. I won’t cry again. I won’t. I put my head in my hands and pull at my hair. Is this another form of self harm? Who knows, but I don’t care. I take another citalopram with a glass of water, I hate it but maybe I might feel better if I keep taking it like the paramedic said. I need a distraction so I put my headphones on to listen to the Clash, but I get fed up quite quickly. I can’t concentrate for the thoughts in my head, telling me that I am worthless, pathetic, stupid and most of all a fucked up waste of space.

It's about 6am when I actually get to sleep. And there’s still shouting coming from downstairs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogen is still hurting, and her family are no help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but I don't think anyone reads this so who cares

The next day when I wake I already feel drained. I have no energy, I feel awful, like I really want to die. I can’t get out of bed. I physically can’t. I look at my phone, not really paying attention, I’ve had lots of messages from Payton but I can’t bring myself to write a response. How could I even begin to explain what has happened? In just a few days I’ve gone from being generally depressed and anxious to self-harming and feeling severely suicidal. 

What am I going to do? I just can’t see how this might get better.

My mum comes in my room, she puts a cup of tea on the bedside table. 

‘We need to talk’ she says

‘What if I don’t want to?’ I try to snap back but it just sounds weak

‘You have to’ she responds coldly. ‘How did you go from being a really lovely girl to being like this?’

‘I don't know, maybe I’m just broken, fucked up. I can’t explain why I act like this, its just an outworking of how I feel inside.’

‘How do you feel inside?’

‘Like shit, I hate myself so much that I want to die’ I say it how it is.

‘I don’t know how to help you’

‘I don’t need you to, I don’t need anyone. I just want to be left alone’

‘So you can hurt yourself again?’

‘Yes’ I respond sharply ‘I don’t want to stop’

‘You need to give me the blades that you hurt yourself with’

‘No, I need them’

‘Imogen, I swear to God, you have got to take steps to help yourself. Get it together, you need to start acting like a grown up’

‘Well I have excellent role models’

‘Fuck you. Terry is right, you are a waste of space’

‘Fuck off out of my room then, leave me alone’

She leaves and I close the door but I don’t have the energy to block it with something. I don’t think she's coming back anyway. I sit on the edge of the bed and take some deep breaths. Then I take a citalopram and drink my tea.

Then I start thinking. Big mistake.

How am I going to get better from this? I don't even want to leave my room, let alone leave the house. How am I going to go back to college? I’m going to be so behind. What will everyone be thinking, what would people say if they knew the truth about me? I might as well be dead rather than let people find out about what a fucked up freak I am?

I hate myself. I need to hurt. I need to punish myself for being not right in the head.

I go over to where I hid the blade, I get it out, pull up my sleeve and drag it across. Over and over until I’m crying and I can’t see through blurred tears. A few moments pass and I look at the mess I’ve made of my arm. I hold a tissue on it until it stops bleeding, then I put plasters over it and get a long sleeve top so I don’t have to look at it. 

I listen at the door and I’m pretty certain that everyone is downstairs so I run to the bathroom. I go to the toilet and flush the bloody tissue away so there's no evidence of my cutting apart from my arm. No one will ever see it, I’m never going to show anyone this. 

I go back to my room and shut the door. I get back in bed because there's nothing else worth doing. I can’t stop thinking about how much I hate myself and how much everyone hates me. Now that mum has taken Terry’s side, that's it, I have no one left. No one likes me, and why would they? I’m a fucking mess. I start crying again until there's nothing left. I keep crying and it turns to screaming into my pillow. 

Where do I go from here?


End file.
